Preface: When I left my church ministry position in 2017 to focus on writing a book and starting a nonprofit, I had no way of knowing that I would preach five eulogies in eighteen months for various members of my family. The first three loved ones passed away within three months of my last day on the job. As I have fulfilled this responsibility over the past months, I have heard a common refrain: I’m pretty good at delivering eulogies, quite good actually. This is an odd skill set, to be sure, and I am not hanging a shingle here. But it was at my great aunt’s funeral last weekend that I understood the import. Eulogies are a form of life-writing, a form of biography. Like biography, the eulogy goes beyond factual details of a life in order to place an individual in personal and/or social-historical context and to draw lessons from their life experiences. There are also key differences that need not be enumerated here. But their similarities led me to the conclusion that if I am good at eulogy, then perhaps I am also good at biography. If so, this is certainly a good thing since I am currently writing a book-length biography of my grandfather. Therefore, I have embraced this vocational season of my life as one not only filled with losses, but also filled with unexpected synchronicity. Moreover, I have decided to share these eulogies on my blog. I begin now with the eulogy of my great aunt, Carrie Turner. 

 The Lighthouse Keeper        

“You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.” -Matthew 5:14-16

The waters were calm on a balmy day in Washington, DC. Ellis Turner wore a baseball cap, a short-sleeved, button-down shirt, and trousers as he prepared his boat to launch into the harbor. I’m not sure who else was with us – it may have been Arial or Daren or who knows. What I do know is that when civilian Captain Ellis turned on the motor and steered the Nija-Maria out on the open waters of the Potomac with the monuments in the distance, as the sun kissed his face, the wind seemed to blow at least ten years from his brow. He looked younger, brave, and strong. He was in his element and it was a sight to behold.

Many in our family had the experience of being on his boat, which he had over several decades. He was in his 70’s when I went with him, but he took my mother out in his boat when he was in his 30’s. The boat became part of the experience of visiting Ellis and Carrie here in Washington, DC, part of experiencing their hospitality.

When it was time to return, what beckoned Uncle Ellis back to shore? How did he find his way home? It is my feeling that inasmuch as Uncle Ellis was the captain, their home was the lighthouse, and Aunt Carrie was the lighthouse keeper.

Born in 1929, Aunt Carrie was part of the greatest generation. Born in South Carolina and raised in Augusta, GA, she lived through the Great Depression and World War II. She was also born into Jim Crow segregation and saw the colored only signs.

In 1951, she married Ellis Turner and they were a gorgeous couple. Aunt Carrie was quite a beauty, inside and out, with a magnetic personality. Together, they started a family. And together, these members of the greatest generation experienced the aftermath of Brown vs. Board, witnessed firsthand the Civil Rights Movement, mourned the death of the four little black girls and the assassinations of Evers, Kennedy, and King, and experienced the victory of the Civil Rights Act and the Voting Rights Act.

As a result, Aunt Carrie became an active participant in the rise of African American political power in the 1970s and 80s and until her retirement, working first for the Navy then spending many years working for DC government and the DC Democratic State Committee. She was an activist. She saw her role as that of helping her community, helping those in need, and doing her part to make the world a better place. And throughout her adult life, she kept a home that welcomed us all.

A lighthouse is typically a tower that emits light and serves as a navigational aid for those at sea. The bright light at the top of the lighthouse is called a beacon, and it is the job of lighthouse keeper to keep the light burning bright. Symbolically, a lighthouse represents guidance and help navigating the world. It represents safety when facing rough waters or challenging circumstances, safe harbor for those in peril on the sea.

Yes, for me and so many others, the Turner home was a lighthouse. It was a beacon, it beckoned us there. How many of us stayed there for longer than a short visit? How many times did we gather there on Sunday or a holiday? How many times did we go to see them and to see everyone else who would be there to see them? Aunt Carrie kept the light burning bright. She cooked those delicious meals, especially that cornbread, and had a way of connecting with everyone individually. How many of us left feeling encouraged, like we had been a little closer to home?

It turns out that she was like that, not just with us, but with her community. I’m told that when someone in the neighborhood was going through a tough time, the Turner home was a place to turn. When someone wanted to get elected, Aunt Carrie was the person you wanted on your side. When a young person needed support or encouragement, Ellis and Carrie showed up.

For me personally, they showed up at my life events before I knew them well. But it was when I had just graduated from Harvard Divinity School, before attending law school, that I lived with them for a year. They became like grandparents to me, coming to hear me preach at my first ministry job, inviting me to attend events with them where it was clear that they were well known and beloved. I would return there in between law school semesters, and when I met the person I would marry, they were among the first family members to meet him. They became a home away from home for my family and me.

I’m told that the number of lighthouses in the world is decreasing and being replaced by newer navigational technology. At least in the United States, there really aren’t many lighthouse keepers left. Like the greatest generation, they are becoming a remnant of a different time, slowly slipping away from us, belonging to the ages.

On this last Thursday, January 3^rd, the lighthouse went dark for a while. Aunt Carrie entered that eternal rest, going to be with the Lord and with the ancestors.  For some of us, the past week has been noticeably darker, colder, and we have felt a little lost as though something is missing. What do we do when confronted with darkness? What do we do when we must grope around feeling blinded and bumping into obstacles that we’re unable to see? What do we do in the dark?

There are many differences between the gospel of John and the synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, and Luke), but there is one that stood out to me for the first time while preparing this eulogy. In the Gospel of John, Jesus is quoted as saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.” In the high Christology of John, we see the “I am” statements and Jesus’ light contrasted with the darkness of the world.

But the writer of the Gospel of Matthew must have heard it differently. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is quoted as saying, “You are the light of the world.” He goes on to say, “A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. ¹⁵No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. ¹⁶In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven.”  According to John, Jesus is the beacon guiding our way. But in Matthew, Jesus delegates that responsibility to his followers, that is, to us!

In times of darkness, if one only reads John, one might ask where is God? I mean, if Jesus/God is the light of the world, yet we experience darkness, then where is God? I’m sure you’ve heard people ask, where was God when this tragedy happened? Where was God when this disaster happened? But when I read Matthew it confirms my suspicion that when we’re busy asking where was God, God is asking where were you? Where were you when your neighbor was suffering? Where were you when you saw someone in need? Where were you when a young person needed encouragement?

Because I’ll tell you one thing: Aunt Carrie was there. Ellis & Carrie spent their lives showing up for others. They showed up for our celebrations and graduations and vacations. But they also showed up in times of need. The testimonies I’ve heard have been those of generosity of spirit, of providing a helping hand, of being a positive source of encouragement, that if they heard someone in the neighborhood was going through a tough time, they would go into their own pockets to make a difference in their lives.

When I think of that scripture, of not hiding your light but letting your light shine so that people will see your good works and glorify God. I can’t imagine a better scripture to reflect the life of Aunt Carrie – someone who personally and professionally, socially and politically let her light shine before others not so that they would see her, but so that they would see something bigger than her, bigger than you, bigger than me.

What do we do in times of darkness? What do we do when we can’t find our way? We light a candle. We kindle a flame. And if we can find each other, we combine our light and build a fire.

Ellis, Victor, Darren, it’s now time for you to be a light to your father, to be a light to Nathan. It’s time for me to become the kind of aunt that Aunt Carrie was for me. It’s time for all of us to become what Aunt Carrie was for us. It’s time for us to see a need and meet it, see suffering and bring healing, see mourning and bring comfort, see a victory and help celebrate it. I don’t know if Aunt Carrie ever asked, where was God. I don’t know what darkness she might have encountered, and I certainly don’t judge anyone who asks. But I believe God never had to ask where was Aunt Carrie. She was busy showing up in the lives of those who needed her.

Now it’s time for us to do the same, to light a candle in the darkness, to go home and be a beacon in our communities.  We must now realize, “You are the light of the world. A city built on a hill cannot be hidden. No one after lighting a lamp puts it under the bushel basket, but on the lampstand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven”